Lost Time: Save the Dates
by Praetorian Productions
Summary: This is a series about how Mulder struggles with lost time and special occasions throughout his life. This is a companion series to "Lost Time: Extreme Possibilities," although it is not necessary to read that series to appreciate this one.
1. Like A House Afire

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files.

Spoilers: For "Fire" and other episodes that talk about Samantha's back-story and Mulder's childhood. In "Fire," Mulder tells Scully that his friend's house burned down when he was a kid and that he spent the night in the ruins guarding the house from looters. I have chosen this time for my own convenience as canon is not specific about the date of the fire.

Like A House Afire

January 22, 1974

Mulder sprawled on his best friend's couch, his long legs propped up on the coffee table. Jake's posture was no better, but who could expect more from a pair of teenage boys? Both were engrossed in _Frankenstein_, the evening Sci-Fi classic.

Leaning forward, Mulder snagged a piece of pizza from the cardboard box resting on the coffee table. He absentmindedly munched away, watching the climax of the film with half-hearted interest. Jake was still wrapped up in the movie, but Mulder's agile mind had already moved beyond the film.

As hard as Mulder had tried to distract his mind, his eidetic memory prevented him from forgetting the significance of the date. Not that he would have forgotten the day had he possessed an imperfect memory; kidnapped little sisters' birthdays were important to all big brothers who had failed to protect their sisters.

He cursed his eidetic memory, not only because it remembered too well, but also because it remembered too poorly. Mulder could remember flawlessly his argument with Samantha and his parents' reaction to Samantha's disappearance, but his normally flawless memory could not recall a single moment of his sister's actual kidnapping. How could his near-perfect memory have lost time like that?

Jake sat up and stretched, stood up, and turned off the television. The movie was over, and both guys knew that nothing worth watching would come on for the rest of the night.

"Wanna play some pool?" Jake asked, grabbing the last slice of pizza.

"Why not?" Mulder said. It beat trying to sleep.

Mulder won both games with joyless precision, his monotone voice calling balls and pockets with emotionless boredom.

"Wanna play again?" Jake asked, reaching for the nearest pocket.

Mulder shrugged; if Jake wanted to lose again, Mulder was willing to put off sleep for another few minutes.

"Or maybe we could just get ready for bed," Jake said, taking Mulder's pool stick and resting it and his own on the table.

Mulder shrugged again.

"Whatever," he said.

"You can sleep on the couch," Jake said.

"I always do," Mulder said.

"I'll get a blanket and pillow," Jake said.

"Thanks," Mulder said.

They walked back into the living room in awkward silence. Mulder stood by the couch, and Jake walked down the hall to the linen closet. He returned with a firm pillow and a heavy quilt for Mulder, who thanked him.

"Don't mention it," Jake said. "I'm just glad my parents let you come over."

"Not all parents would trust two teenage boys alone under the same roof," Mulder agreed.

"Yeah, well, once I told them what today is…"

"What is today?" Mulder asked, his face blank.

"Well, you know," Jake stammered. "A few months ago…I mean…your sister…"

"There is nothing special about today," Mulder said vehemently. "Nothing at all. It's just another day."

"Sure, F…Mulder," Jake said, putting his hands up. "You're right. I guess I was thinking of a different day."

"Guess so," Mulder said, turning away as he made his bed.

"I'll just…go to bed myself," Jake said, turning to go.

"Sleep well," Mulder said.

Jake walked to his bedroom in silence, and Mulder wondered why Jake still wanted to be his friend. Most of Mulder's old friends had grown tired of his terse replies and mood swings, but Jake still invited him over to his house and sat with him at lunch. Most importantly, he did not believe the whispered gossip that suggested Mulder had hurt his sister and had invented his story.

Mulder turned off the lights and settled on the couch, vowing to be a better friend to the one guy he had somehow managed to avoid pushing away. He tried to sleep, but tossed and turned as his mind refused to shut down.

_Talk about the brain that wouldn't die,_ Mulder thought irritably.

With a muttered curse, he got up and walked to the television. He turned the sound knob all the way down, and twisted the channel knob until he settled on a cheesy-looking spaghetti western. The B-movie was good company, and Mulder eventually lapsed into a fitful sleep.

He was strapped to a hard, flat surface, and he could not see. He could hear the beeps and clanks of what he assumed to be machinery, and footsteps clacked against some sort of hard surface. His ears also picked up the rustle of fabric and what sounded like boiling water.

Mulder—or whatever he was—struggled to move mentally, but his muscles would not obey his mind. He was about to panic when he heard a metallic clank followed by an electric hum. His body began to tingle, and without further warning, every cell in his body crackled and burned before coming to glorious life.

Eyes opening, the Mulder-thing saw huge glass windows, lab equipment, and a man wearing a white lab coat. Grunting, the Mulder-thing strained against his padded leather restraints, thrashing about on the steel table in an attempt to break free.

"It's alive!" the evil scientist shouted, cackling madly.

The scientist's insane laugher abruptly ceased as another electric hum filled the tower chamber. He ran toward the giant switch, but failed to flip it before another bolt of lightning struck the rod on the roof, sizzling its way into the laboratory. Instead of electrocuting the creature on the table, the energy blew up the machine to which the creature was attached.

Sparks flew all around the Mulder-thing, some embers searing the creature's flesh and others setting the scientist's lab notes and potions on fire. More of the room began to burn, and the acrid smell of smoke wafted over the Mulder-thing. Hair-singeing heat pressed in from all sides, the flames shining brightly all around the creature firmly bound to the table.

The Mulder-thing struggled continually against his bonds, terrified of the fire and flames around him. He could no longer see the scientist, so he knew there was no hope of release. Helpless, he stared into the bright flames as they burned ever closer.

He gave one last heave and felt the table tip over. His shoulder rammed into the floor, the thud inaudible over the crackling, roaring flames. The Mulder-thing yelled hoarsely…

And awakened to find himself on the floor of Jake's living room, tightly cocooned in the borrowed quilt. Mulder heaved a sigh of relief, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. He looked up…

And found himself in the midst of another nightmare. Mulder was wedged between the couch and the coffee table, but he could see that flames had already consumed the kitchen and had moved into the living room. Thick, noxious smoke billowed all over the room, robbing the air of oxygen and replacing it with poison. The television exploded, emitting sparks and fizzling out like a dying sparkler.

Mulder coughed, a deep, hacking sound bursting from his throat. The flames moved steadily toward him, prompting him to struggle out of the quilt that had pinned him in place.

_Jake!_ He thought, panicking. The fire had completely surrounded the living room, except for a small gap miraculously free of flames.

_Hall!_ Mulder thought, instinctively crawling toward the gap, nose to the floor. His lungs continued to rid themselves of fumes, seizing Mulder's body with wracking coughs. Mulder's nose came to a sudden, painful halt and he panicked again, but it was only Jake's door.

_My nose would be the first body part to reach the finish line, _he thought.

Taking one last breath, Mulder stood up and opened Jake's bedroom door. He swiftly closed it, and shoved a few of Jake's jeans and sweaters under the door to keep out smoke.

"Jake!" Mulder shouted, shaking him awake.

"Wha?" Jake muttered.

"Fire!" Mulder yelled.

"You sure?" Jake asked, blearily looking around the bedroom.

"No, I guess I just imagined it," Mulder said, pulling back Jake's covers.

"Cold!" Jake said as the air hit his bare arms and legs.

"Throw on some clothes while I open the window," Mulder said, his long legs crossing the room quickly.

Smoke was billowing around the cracks on the sides of the door, and the room was getting noticeably warmer.

"If you take any longer getting dressed, you won't need to worry about the cold," Mulder said.

"Do I have time—" Jake asked, gesturing around the room.

"No," Mulder said. "Come on. Now."

Jake grabbed a few more pieces of clothing off the floor and the blanket from his bed and ran to the window, gazing sadly at his possessions. Mulder punched out the screen, and Jake jumped out into the cold winter night.

Flames licked around the door, so Mulder grabbed the window sill. His eyes landed on something, and he dashed to the corner closest to the door. He grabbed the duffel bag handle and heaved, stumbling to the window. Mulder threw the bag out the window and jumped after it, relieved at the brisk infusion of sharp, fresh air as he took his first clean breath in what seemed like hours.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and the shadowy forms of neighbors huddled in their own yards. None of them ventured onto Jake's lawn, as if they were afraid of catching a fire like one catches cold. At least one of them had been decent enough to call the fire department, although Mulder could not see how the firemen would be able to do more than contain the blaze.

The next few hours passed in a hellish blur as he and Jake became the stars in their own macabre nightmare. _My parents are out of town at a business conference. No, this isn't my brother, this is my best friend. He saved my life. No, I don't have their contact information; it was in the kitchen. No, sir; my parents live across town. Yes, sir; they know I'm here. No, sir; I don't want to go home. I want to stay with Jake. No, sir; I have no idea how the fire started. I was asleep, and so was Jake. _

The questions themselves were innocuous, but the smoking, charred wreckage of what had once been Jake's house lent the scene a surreal quality. Eventually, the firemen were called away to a three-alarm warehouse fire; the neighbors melted back into their warm, cozy homes; and Mulder and Jake were left alone.

"So, uh…should we head over to the neighbors'?" Mulder asked, gesturing at the house next door.

"The lights are on, so maybe the Macknowskis are home. We could call our parents, and you could go home," Jake said.

Mulder could tell Jake's adrenaline rush was finally wearing off, so he figured Jake's idea was a sound one. Besides, it was too cold to remain outdoors, especially now that the fire had been extinguished.

Mulder turned to leave, but he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Soundlessly, he bent over and unzipped the duffel bag he had rescued from Jake's burning room. He withdrew Jake's most prized possession: his Louisville Slugger. Jake was quiet behind him; he had either seen the movement as well or was lapsing into shock.

Standing up, Mulder watched as three tall figures emerged from the other neighbors' backyard, all of them carrying large sacks. Mulder stiffened, tightening his grip on the bat. He walked across the yard, intent on intercepting the three figures before they reached the relatively undamaged back door.

"Can I help you?" Mulder said, stepping out of the shadows.

"Uh, we were just coming over to make sure you were okay," what appeared to be the leader said.

"That's very kind of you, but as you can see, we're perfectly safe," Mulder said, bat still held at his side.

"You shouldn't be standing out here in the cold all alone," another man with a big nose said. "It isn't safe."

"I don't see anyone around who wants to hurt us," Mulder said.

"We certainly don't mean you any harm," the third man said, his yellow teeth smiling unconvincingly. "We're just fulfilling our neighborly duty."

"Well, consider it fulfilled, then," Mulder said. "We're just fine here. Thank you."

"You agree with your buddy here?" Big Nose asked Jake. "Whatsamatter, son? Cat gotcher tongue?"

"No, sir. I mean yes, sir," Jake muttered.

"Leave him alone," Mulder said. "This was his house. It's been damaged enough. Please leave."

"I guess we're finished here," the leader said.

"Good," Mulder said, making sure the men noticed the Slugger.

The men turned around and walked away, cutting back through the neighbors' yard. Mulder's shoulders slumped, and a wave of weariness washed over him as intensely as had the waves of heat hours ago.

"They'll come back," Mulder said.

"Yeah," Jake agreed, staring off into space.

"I'll stay," Mulder said.

"Me too," Jake said.

"No," Mulder said. "Go to the Macknowskis. Call your parents. Tell them what happened. Get some rest. I'll stay."

"Can' leave you out here 'lone," Jake said, his words starting to slur. "'s cold."

"Doesn't matter," Mulder said. "I won't sleep anyway. I won't let them hurt your things."

"I'll go to the Macknowskis, call my parents," Jake said. "'m comin' back."

"You do that," Mulder said, settling onto the cold, hard back stoop.

Jake stumbled away; Mulder watched until the Macknowskis let him in. Hopefully they would dissuade him from coming back outside.

He turned his attention to the other neighbors' yard and kept his eyes there. Those slimeball looters would come back; their kind always did. They were predictable, down to the weapons with which they would likely return. Mulder didn't mind; he was sure he could handle those cowards.

Smoke rose off the cooling remains of Jake's house, shrouding everything in acrid mist. Mulder breathed in the pestilent fog without noticing its presence. Silent, unmoving, and unfeeling, Mulder sat on Jake's back steps, Louisville Slugger resting across his lap. Time passed, but Mulder was unaware of it.

_Lost time,_ he thought, snapping out of his stupor. His mind latched onto the concept, worrying at the problem as it had since Samantha's disappearance. He had failed to notice the past few—he checked his watch—hours because he had been in a sort of trance. Could he have somehow been in a trance when Samantha was kidnapped?  
All he could remember was a vague feeling of helplessness, something bad attached to being called Fox, and an unsettling feeling that time had moved on without him. What could cause him to black out at such a critical time?

Mulder's mind continued to chew on the problem, but that failed to distract it from the sound of three men approaching the back stoop. Standing to his feet and swinging the bat loosely, Mulder drew himself up to his full height.

The men were older and bigger, and they were also armed with bats.

_At least they didn't bring knives to a bat fight,_ Mulder thought.

"Out of the way, boy," the leader said, swaggering to the bottom of the stairs.

Mulder said nothing.

"He said, out of the way, kid," Big Nose said, brandishing his bat.

"Actually, he said, 'out of the way, boy,' but I suppose that's too tough for you to remember," Mulder said, raising Jake's Slugger.

"I'll show you tough," Yellow Teeth said, raising his bat and walking toward Mulder.

"Hang on a minute," the leader said, halting the other man's swing. "Maybe we can talk this out. No need for violence, right?"

Nobody replied, but the leader continued anyway.

"Look, son," he said, "what's this to you? I mean, why are you risking your own neck for stuff that doesn't even belong to you? You could always tell your friend you tried to stop us and failed; he'll never know. Why don't you just drop that bat and walk away, okay?"

"I can't," Mulder said.

"Why not?" the leader asked.

"Because Jake is my best friend. He and I get along like a house afire," Mulder said.

"You have a warped sense of humor, boy," the lead looter said. "Almost makes me wish I didn't have to hurt you. But I want what's in that house, and I'm not gonna let some puny punk like you keep me from getting what I want."

A strange feeling began to grow in Mulder's chest, a feeling like he had never experienced. He realized that it was rage or anger or hate or…he could not tell, not from such a great mental distance. His breathing hitched, and he could feel his vision narrowing. A gleeful, fierce smile spread across his face, and his hands tightened around the handle of the Slugger.

_That's what someone thought about my sister,_ Mulder realized. _Someone decided they wanted her, and they were going to take her. They didn't care about what she wanted, what I wanted, or what Mom and Dad wanted. I'm not gonna let them hurt Jake, though; I won't fail him like I failed my sister. Samantha…_

His body tensed, and his teeth bared themselves further in a feral smile. He could already sense the dull, satisfying thud of bat on flesh and bone.

_Hips before hands,_ he thought, a soft chuckle escaping his throat.

The leader backed up a step, and his accomplices did the same.

"We're leaving," the leader said, continuing to back away.

"Aw, c'mon, man! We can take him!" Big Nose said.

"I know that look!" the leader whispered. "Something in that boy just snapped, and I'm not going to be the one he unloads on."

"I think you're a coward, and I'm not leaving empty-handed," Yellow Teeth said.

He strode toward the stairs and swung his bat at Mulder. Lightning fast, Mulder sidestepped the blow and pivoted around the looter, swinging with all his might at the looter's back. The looter let out a howl of pain and stumbled down the steps, limping away into the darkness.

Mulder descended the steps, ready to take on anyone else who would dare set foot in his best friend's burned-out home. He would not let anyone harm Jake's things. Nobody was coming near Jake's things. Nobody was taking…

Nobody was there. He slumped in disappointment, but slowly felt relief replacing his bloodlust. He examined the Slugger and was glad to see it was still in good shape. Jake would have been disappointed to lose his Slugger at this point, since the only other possessions he still had were a blanket, a few articles of clothing, and his duffel bag full of baseball gear.

Mulder briefly considered going over to the Macknowskis, but rejected the idea. He doubted the looters would come back, but he didn't want to take any chances. Nothing and no one would get a chance to harm Jake's things.

Besides, he did not want to spend time with people. He hated their pitying glances, their furtive whispers, their tiptoeing efforts at tact. True, his whole body was a block of ice, but at least he was safe.

_And not at home,_ he thought. _Dad's probably passed out drunk by now, and Mom's probably softly crying into her pillow. My circumstances are ideal compared to theirs._

He stood on the stoop the rest of the night, staring off into space as time passed. His hands molded to the baseball bat, freezing in place. While Mulder knew in the back of his mind that he might end up with frostbite or hypothermia, he didn't care.

_All in all, Samantha's birthday wasn't as bad as it could've been,_ he mused. _At least I got to lose some time…_


	2. Three Bottle Problem

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files.

Spoilers: "Fire," and other episodes that talk about Mulder and Samantha's backstory ("Conduit," "Little Green Men," etc.).

A/N: I know there are several different accounts of Samantha's abduction, some contradicting others. I have done and will continue to do what the show's writers seemed to do: pick and choose details to suit the story.

Three-bottle Problem

October 13, 1982

Flames surrounded Mulder as he tried to move. He stood completely immobilized, unable to escape the white-hot licks of fire that leapt out at him. His face was frozen in a rictus of horror, his body refusing to obey his mental commands down to the smallest muscular twitch.

The flames glowed luminescent white, bathing the whole room in blinding light. Somehow, Mulder was able to make out a door about ten feet in front of him. The door slowly swung open, revealing his best friend floating above his bed.

"Fox!" Jake screamed. "Help me, Fox!"

Mulder tried to reach out to Jake, tried to make it to the door, but he could not move.

"Fox!" Jake yelled, screaming in terror as he began to slowly levitate toward the window.

_At least he's going to escape the fire, _Mulder thought. _But this is all wrong! I'm supposed to open the window and he's supposed to jump out. That's how it happened…will happen?_

The window opened by itself, and Jake pivoted in midair as if rotated by invisible hands. His feet facing the window, he began to inch toward the safety of fresh air.

"No!" Jake yelled. "Save me, Fox! Fox! Fox!"

Mulder fought against his invisible restraints, knowing somehow that Jake was safer inside the burning building than he would be if he floated out that window. His struggles were in vain, and Jake disappeared in a final, blinding flash of incandescent light.

Suddenly, Mulder was being smothered. Flames and smoke pressed in once again. He could not breathe. His lungs were paralyzed. He was going to die, just like Jake. Just like Samantha. Just like…

His eyes opened and settled on the woman sitting in his lap. Presumably, this woman was responsible for his shortness of breath, her lips depriving him of much-needed oxygen. Mulder knew better than to complain.

"How's your head?" the woman asked in her British accent.

"Hurts a little," Mulder said, grinning mischievously.

"Your stomach?" the woman replied, grinning as well.

"Empty as a football," Mulder responded.

"And your love life?" the woman asked, arching an eyebrow suggestively and leaning in.

"Not too active," Mulder replied, winking and wrapping her in his arms.

"Anything else bothering you?" the woman asked.

"Uh-huh," Mulder replied, "Who are you?"

"Reading from top to bottom," the woman said, standing up, "Phoebe. Sherlock. Greene."

"Since when is your middle name 'Sherlock'?" Mulder asked Phoebe.

"Since I decided to figure out what's been bothering you," Phoebe said.

"And what have you deduced, Sherlock?" Mulder said.

"I love a man that can segue from Hitchcock to Holmes so seamlessly," Phoebe said. "That's why I keep you around."

"I thought you kept me around for my boyish charm and brilliant mind," Mulder said.

"Neither of which has been a hundred percent today," Phoebe said. "So what's bothering you, Mulder? You know you can tell me anything."

_Today's my birthday,_ Mulder contemplated telling Phoebe. _I never mention it to anyone because it's been a meaningless date since my sister was taken years ago. So now I try to avoid celebrating not only my birthday, but others' as well._

"I haven't been sleeping well," Mulder said instead.

"I'm disappointed, Mulder," Phoebe said. "If you're going to employ evasive tactics, at least make them inventive."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Mulder said. "I'll lie more creatively next time."

"Seriously, Mulder. What's bothering you?"

"I've been having nightmares," Mulder said, telling the partial truth. "I go through phases where I sleep fitfully and lapse into nightmares. The phase works itself out, I go back to sleeping well, and the nightmares go away. Nothing to worry about."

"What kind of nightmares?"

"The usual," Mulder said. "I dream I show up for class late and naked. I dream I get to class and I have a presentation due for which I'm unprepared. I wake up on the couch in my flat with my beautiful girlfriend sitting on my lap and interrogating me."

"Liar," Phoebe said. "Have you always been so secretive?"

"Ever since I discovered that "trust no one" was a good credo."

"Well, it just so happens that I brought the solution to your three-bottle problem," Phoebe said, walking to a bag she had placed on the floor.

"I remember Sherlock Holmes referring to a three-pipe problem, but never a three-bottle problem," Mulder said.

"I didn't get the idea directly from Sir Doyle, but I was inspired by him."

"And I know what happens when you get inspired by Sir Arthur," Mulder said, grinning lasciviously.

"Obviously, the solution to a three-bottle problem," Phoebe said, pulling a six-pack out of the bag, "is three bottles."

"Elementary, my dear Phoebe," Mulder said, taking one of the bottles and sitting on his couch.

He picked up the bottle opener he always kept close by and opened both their bottles.

"You're always prepared, aren't you?" Phoebe said, sitting beside Mulder.

"Given the nature of my friends, having a bottle opener on hand is always a good idea."

"To Holmsian solutions," Phoebe said, clinking Mulder's bottle.

"To Arthurian inspiration," Mulder said, doing the same.

"You mean Guinevere?" Phoebe said.

"Are you my Guinevere?" Mulder asked, taking a swig from his bottle.

"Maybe," Phoebe said. "Depends on which facet of Guinevere's personality to which you're referring."

"Perhaps I should instead ask you who plays Lancelot?" Mulder said.

"None of that, or I'll take away the other bottles."

"Cruel, heartless woman," Mulder said, continuing to drink from his bottle.

Mulder had always held his alcohol well, so he was still in control of himself after two and a half bottles. Phoebe had engaged him in the witty banter to which he had been drawn from the moment he had met her, and the evening had passed happily.

_This hasn't been such a bad birthday, all things considered,_ Mulder thought drowsily, relaxed by Phoebe's three-bottle solution.

"So, Mulder," Phoebe said. "Tell me about your nightmares."

_She's trying to get me drunk so I'll spill my guts, _Mulder thought, noticing she had only finished one bottle. _I should've known that was her goal. What was I expecting? That she'd spend so much time with me without getting anything in return?_

"I already told you, Phoebe," Mulder said. "They're just normal nightmares involving class, friends, and varying states of undress."

"Those sound like my dreams, except they're not nightmares," Phoebe said, smiling.

_Trying to put me at ease,_ Mulder thought. _If nothing else, being Phoebe's lover is excellent job preparation._

"I don't even want to know what you dream about," Mulder said, smiling back.

"But I want to know what you dream about," Phoebe said, staring intently into Mulder's eyes.

_Maybe if I give her part of the truth, she'll leave me alone,_ Mulder thought.

"My dreams are about…fire," Mulder said.

"Fire?"

"Yeah," Mulder said, fidgeting. "When I was a kid, my best friend's house burned down. He and I had to escape the flames, and I stayed on the back porch all night guarding against looters. Even though this happened years ago, I still have nightmares about being trapped in a burning building; I'm also still terrified of fire."

"I never knew that about you," Phoebe said, looking both satisfied and sympathetic.

"I've never told anyone else," Mulder said. "I'd appreciate it if you did the same."

"Of course, Mulder," Phoebe said. "I won't tell anyone."

Mulder drained the last of his third beer, glad the alcohol was silencing the question that had been raging in his mind during his entire conversation with Phoebe.

_Why have my fire dreams been changing so drastically over the past several years?_

Mulder had a few ideas, the most likely of which both terrified and exhilarated him.

_I'm remembering. Sometimes, Jake is Samantha and Samantha is Jake…Maybe if I talked to someone…_

"Have you considered seeking professional help?" Phoebe asked, her identical thought startling Mulder.

"I've thought about it, but I'd feel silly. I mean, they're just dreams, right? It's not like they're going to kill me."  
"If they keep you from sleeping, they might," Phoebe said.

"I'll be fine," Mulder said. "I probably won't have another one for a month or two. I'm more likely to have a nightmare about Professor Janeway showing up to class naked."

"Nobody wants to see that," Phoebe said, nose wrinkling in disgust.

"No amount of alcohol could make that dream sweet," Mulder agreed.

"So what else is bothering you, Mulder?" Phoebe asked. "I know you haven't told me everything."

"What makes you say that?" Mulder said.

"I've noticed patterns over the past few months. Some days, you're fine, others, you're not. Something deeper is bothering you, something worse than fire."  
"You are fire," Mulder said.

"Is that a compliment?" Phoebe asked.

"Fire can be both mesmerizing and destructive, so you choose," Mulder said.

"Don't you trust me?" Phoebe said, flashing that beguiling smile.

"Not a bit," Mulder said.

"If that's how you feel, I'll just leave," Phoebe said, standing up.

"Wait," Mulder said, clumsily getting to his feet. "I'm just a little hungry. Let me go get some food and I'll feel better."

Mulder walked into the small kitchen, relieved that Phoebe could not see him from the couch. He strode to the refrigerator, but instead opened the cabinet above it. He withdrew a bottle of whiskey he kept for such special occasions and stared at it, trying to decide if he wanted to take a few swigs.

_The best way to keep from spilling my guts is to get so drunk I won't be capable of doing so,_ Mulder thought. _Or maybe I won't be able to get drunk enough and will end up telling her everything._ _If I drink enough, I'll at least be able to silence my mind for a few hours so I won't have to think about…_

Mulder quietly opened a drawer and took out his corkscrew, opening the bottle as silently as possible. The strong scent assaulted his nose, as sharp as the acrid smoke from his nightmare.

_She's not dead,_ Mulder thought, remembering his jumbled thoughts from his dream. _I'll find her. Someday. I'll remember…_

_Maybe I could talk to Phoebe,_ Mulder thought, staring at the now-open bottle. _I could tell her the truth, and maybe she would help me find a professional who could help me remember the details of Samantha's disappearance. Or maybe she'll take the information I give her and use it for her own ends. _

Without further thought, Mulder brought the bottle to his lips and tipped it upside down, the whiskey burning a trail down his throat. He gasped softly, the fiery feeling reminding him of the searing air from his nightmare.

_To lost time,_ he mentally toasted, lifting the bottle and clinking it against an imaginary other. He took another swig, and then another, anticipating the oblivion that would soon follow.


	3. The Wall Came Down

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files.

Spoilers: "Travelers" and any other episode dealing with the back story of Mulder and Diana's relationship.

A/N: Another X-Files mystery is revealed in the episode "Travelers" in which Mulder is clearly wearing a wedding band in the flashbacks. The two explanations I ran across the most were: A) that Duchovny had just gotten married and wanted to wear his ring on set and B) that Duchovny wanted to eventually introduce a plot point about an ex-wife but never got around to doing so. The Gunmen tell Scully that Diana dated Mulder from his Academy days through the discovery and early days of the X-Files. "Travelers" takes place during late 1990. The timing checks out, and it's possible that the Gunmen did not want to reveal the whole truth to Scully. Diana's birthday is never given (at least to my knowledge), so I assigned her this one because it suited my purposes.

The Wall Came Down

November 9, 1991

_Witnesses claim that the male suspect is capable of scaling walls using nothing but his bare hands and feet,_ Mulder read in the X-File._ Further inspection yielded an unidentifiable, sticky substance discovered on the sides of the buildings the suspect is accused of scaling._

Mulder absentmindedly hummed the Spiderman theme song as he continued reading the X-File.

_The suspect was never apprehended, and the case remains unsolved._

"Obviously, since it's an X-File," Mulder muttered, closing the file and dropping it on the basement table.

He leaned back in the chair and stretched, his mind already preparing for whatever unsolved case he would pull out next. Maybe he would find another case about a mysterious creature. Maybe he would discover one about a particularly insane serial killer. Or maybe he would even choose one about alien abduction.

Glad this would soon be his official job, he stood up and walked over to the filing cabinets. Mulder flipped through a couple of files and pulled out one that caught his interest.

_Victims with two puncture marks in their abdomens,_ he read. _First victim: Dan Fowler, early thirties, recently married. Wedding band oddly discovered on right hand instead of left…_

_Dan Fowler…early thirties…recently married…wedding band…_

Mulder bolted upright at his table, his mind connecting the dots more slowly than it should have.

"About four hours too slow," he said to the empty basement.

He grabbed his coat and threw it on, running for the elevator. Diana was going to kill him. It was her birthday, and they were going to celebrate both her birthday and his official appointment to the X-Files. He had even contemplated lobbying for her to become his partner in spite of bureau policy; now he would be lucky if she would even talk to him.

"She'll talk to me," he said to the unresponsive elevator door. "She'll forgive me. She always does."

Jumping into his car and slamming the door, he sped away from the parking garage. He regaled his steering wheel with optimistic predictions and plans of attack and defense.

Mulder stormed the door of his apartment complex and charged up the stairs, not willing to wait for the elevator. He ran down the hallway, apologies on his lips as he reached the apartment he and his wife shared.

"I'm so sorry, Diana," Mulder said as he opened the door. "I'll make it up to you…tomorrow."

The word died on his lips as he took in the disheveled state of the apartment. While neither he nor Diana was incredibly tidy, the apartment was more disordered than normal. Some things had been taken, so Mulder drew his gun.

_The burglars could still be in the apartment,_ he thought. _If they've hurt Diana…_

Mulder crept forward, noticing what was missing. _Diana's lamp. Diana's pictures of her family. Diana's coat. Diana's…_

Once again, Mulder connected the dots too slowly. Realization crashing in on him, he holstered his gun and walked from room to room. Everything of Diana's was gone, except for a few unimportant items she had left behind.

Their bedroom was turned upside down, empty drawers gaping open and doors ajar. All of Diana's clothes and jewelry were gone; without her castoffs, nobody would be able to tell she had once lived here.

Mulder's eyes were drawn to the bed, a single piece of paper beckoning to him. He briefly considered not reading the note, but his curiosity got the better of him. His eyes wandered to the bottom and confirmed the signature, so he sat down on the bed and read the letter.

_Dear Fox,_

_Please forgive me for leaving you, but I cannot stay here and continue to watch the X-Files consume your life. When we first married, the X-Files were just a hobby, something you indulged in once in awhile when you were bored. But then you discovered all those alien abduction stories, and you began drifting farther and farther away from me. _

_I understand your desire to find your sister, and I enjoy searching for the Truth with you. But Mulder, the X-Files are not my life. They are your life now. They are all you do. I had hoped that you would eventually give them up and come back home to me, but I saw the ecstasy in your eyes yesterday when you were officially assigned to the X-Files. _

_This morning, I was offered an Anti-Terrorism job in Berlin. Since I was married, I initially turned the offer down. Then you failed to show up for our celebration dinner, and I realized that if I remained married to you, the rest of my life would be like this._

_So I am taking the job, Mulder. I am taking the job because I have finally realized the Truth: There is not room in your life or in your heart for both a wife and the X-Files. I can start over in Berlin, and you can continue to feed more and more of yourself to the X-Files._

_Do not try to change my mind; do not try to find me. I will not be the good little wife who comes back to her husband in spite of his continued dalliances with his other woman. I wish you nothing but the best, and I hope you find what you are looking for._

_Thanks for the good times and best of luck,_

_Diana Fowley_

Mulder stared at the wall for what seemed like hours, completely at a loss. He came to with a jerk and jumped up from the bed as if it had suddenly turned to lava. He looked at it with disgust, glaring at the poofy pillows and the thick, soft quilt.

_Tomorrow, I'm selling it,_ he thought.

Gathering all of Diana's remaining possessions did not take long; he shoved them in a corner of the bedroom and closed the door. His pillow and blanket were still right by the couch, so he picked them up, fluffed them, and set them back on his couch where they belonged.

He considered going to a bar, putting in one of Frohike's tapes, or visiting the Gunmen, but he settled on watching television instead. The TV was on a news channel that was running a late-night story about the second anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.

"'Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall!' President Johnson said," the anchor intoned.

The picture cut from the anchor to clips of various sections of the wall being demolished.

"And the wall came down."

The anchor droned on, but Mulder tuned him out. Diana was going to Berlin because the wall came down. Not just the Berlin Wall, but the wall he had once erected between his professional life and his personal life. He admitted to himself that Diana was right and that he should have noticed the truth sooner.

"But why didn't you tell me?" Mulder said to the empty apartment. "You didn't even give me a chance to change. And now…"

Mulder realized the truth as he turned off the television. "Now I don't have a reason to change. I'm going to see my other woman."

Without a backward glance, he drove back to the Bureau and went back down to the basement. To some, the room would appear lonely and homely, but to him…

"You're beautiful, and I love you," Mulder said, grinning rakishly. "You never complain, you tell me the truth, and you're always there for me. You never get tired, you age well, and you're the best hope I have of finding my sister. If I choose to spend all my time with you, you never tell me it was the wrong thing to do. Find me a woman like that, and I might be willing to make time for her. But for now, I'll love the one I'm with."

The small table beckoned to him, the inviting red and white manila envelopes more appealing than Diana's sheet of excuses. He reached for the file he had been reading before he left, but decided he did not want to continue reading it. Mulder realized the truth about why he had come back, so he put up the other envelopes and pulled out The One.

"Mulder, Samantha T.," it read. Mulder once again read all the information he had been able to gather about his sister's abduction, including the information he had gathered from alien abductees. He now understood so much more about her disappearance, but he also realized that there was so much more he did not know.

"I'll find the Truth," Mulder said aloud. "And I'll find you. And I'll do it alone if they'll let me."

While Mulder had enjoyed working with Diana on some of the X-Files, he had always liked that he reported to no one. Diana was a consultant, not a full partner. Mulder admitted that it probably would have been better had she never become involved in the X-Files at all.

_The X-Files killed my relationship with my wife because I got too deeply involved. Any new partner they'll try to saddle me with will either be a good ol' boy they will send to smother me or a pretty face they will send to seduce me. Neither will succeed, because neither will get close._

Mulder looked down once more at the face of his sister, staring up at him from an old photograph.

_If they send me a woman, I'll work hard to keep her beyond arm's length. I will respect her professionally, but I will never let her get close to me because that would be a lose/lose situation. If she is sent by someone to debunk my work and shut me down, I'll push her away to protect myself. If she ends up becoming a good friend and someone I love, I'll push her away to protect us both. As Diana so eloquently said, there is not room in my heart for both a wife and the X-Files._

"Hopefully, they won't send in anyone who will try to come between us," Mulder said, leaning back in his chair and launching a pencil at the ceiling.

_Soon, there will be a desk in here, just another surface for me to fill with clutter. It will be nice to have somewhere to stretch my legs when I sit…_

"But I love you just the way you are," he said, looking fondly at his little table at which he had spent so many wonderful, profitable hours.

His eyes returned to Samantha's file, as did his mind. And he lost himself once more in the love of his life.


End file.
